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NO PREFACE HAS BEEN
MADE PUBLIC BY THIS AUTHOR
REQUEST
THIS PREFACE
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I'm
typing
this feverishly, sloppily.
I'm hindered
by my swollen necessity. My best friend and ultimately my enemy.
My libido.
Needless to say I'm ready for my
hunt - since tonight, the moon is full.
In the
future we can delve a little more into my "seasonal push" (as it's
called).
For now I can only describe the feeling of
non-restraint, the shaking of my hands, the sweat on my brow.
The
pain I feel inside from holding back all day and trying to maintain
some sort of semblance.
I only suceeded in fooling myself.
The valium
didn't help me doctor, not this time.
I am
throbbing, pulsing, salivating.
My need to
taste skin is immense
and every
single sensation of air and energy is penetrating the pores of
my skin.
It makes itself at home in a hungry, distracted
soul.
I need, more than anything, to be fed every drop I can
muster - forcefully if possible.
Actually
fuck possible, it's essential.
Tonight I
stepped outside to see it in all it's girth - this moon that has me
aching.
We
connectively yearn, beg, and lust for something just as deprived
of sexual connection as the other. Bouncing waves and pheremones into
each other metaphysically. I stand still for a moment to listen
for it's message.
In it's
solace beauty, it hammers back at me, yipping,
and screams for it's
gratification;
as the polaris nearby agrees with it's plight of
lonliness and forlorn fatigue - shaking its finger at me and
winking it's eye.
This only serves to confuse me more.
The night
sky is bitter at Everything Nice...
To a point where the static impairs
my ability to reason and now "I have to."
I don't
want, I need. I'm past tempted... I'm uncontrollable.
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